


Of Random Meetings, Altered Timelines, Ships, and Other Happenings Involving the Ancestors of Homestuck

by aquatarius



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatarius/pseuds/aquatarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of one shots, focusing on the ancestors of homestuck. Some canon ships, some crack ships, some rarepairs, and a few friendships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brownie

**Author's Note:**

> Starring GHBCondy and Condy flush-crushing on the Summoner. Mentions of the Helm.

She played with her lower lip as she watched the low bloods practice their fighting. Her eyes were on their newest recruit. She nibbled on her claw and smirked as she watched the powerful looking bronze blood slam his opponent into the ground, wings snapping out behind him. He hissed, and she smirked.

  Oh, she liked this one, the Highblood could see it on her face. A mutant, sure, but she liked him. His wings were the same disgusting shade of his blood, and the Highblood wrinkled up his nose. What could she possibly like about him? What could she _see_ in him?

  The bronze wiped some blood off his face and turned to give her a sharp salute, a cocky grin, and a wink. She grinned, and waved at him, then gave him a thumbs up.

  “Yo, brownie! Rad a-eff!” She shouted and his wings bristled up. He smirked wider, and the Highblood sighed.

  “You shouldn’t encourage him.” He chided. She snickered and slapped at him.

  “I can manage my own quads, Kurzy.” She said. She tapped a single, painted claw on his chest. “After all, I manage _you_ well enough, don’t I?”

  “I’m not some gutterblood who-”

  “Hey now, don’t be talkin’ ‘boat my brownie like that.”

  ‘Kurzy’ wrinkled up his nose even harder this time. So now she’d given it a nickname. Brownie was accurate, he supposed….

  “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. He’ll be dead in a hundred sweeps.”

  “Oh? Pike my Helm?”

  He rubbed his forehead, although mostly for theatrical effect, since he could barely touch without messing up his paint.

  “How is that little yellow, anyway?”

  “Whale enough to kelp powering my ship.”

  “To _what?_ ”

  “To keep, ya ninny.”

  “My point stands, Meenah.”

  “Oh, Meenah, now?”

  “I want you to understand my complete and utter distaste of your sudden…piking…of this brown.” He gestured with a club to the low blood, who had someone in a headlock at the moment. When he realized his empress and highblood were watching, he grinned and waved.

  Meenah snickered and waved back.

  “I want his name. His _hatch_ name. Any known quadrants.”

  “If he has a flush?”

  “I’ll deal with them later.”

  “I sea.”

  She snorted.

  “You’re naught gonna get me to agree with ya by punning with me.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. I’ll get it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The Highblood turned and walked off. The empress went back to watching her ‘brownie.’

  When he was done training, he walked over, and got down on one knee. The empress smirked and extended one hand. He took it and kissed the back of her hand, then grinned up at her.

  “Hey there. How can I serve her Imperious Condescension?” He said with a voice like chocolate. She laughed, and patted his mohawk.

  “You’re doin just fine, brownie. Kelp up the good work.”


	2. Hate Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hate her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starring Psiioniic and Mindfang. Minor Dolorosa and DualFang.

You hate her. You hate her more than you even thought you _could_ hate someone. So many times, you hear someone about to die, and you can hear the Summoner’s last words, even though he won’t be born for sweeps and sweeps and sweeps and sweeps, and you can hear the Dolorosa, and it’s always _her_. 

  Always Mindfang’s fault. It’s always her. She’s the single most important troll, even more then the Signless or the empress. Her, and the Dolorosa, her and the Summoner, her and Dualscar, her and Darkleer, her, her, her.

  And oh, do you hate her so much. Even _thinking_ about the snarky blue tinted grin you see when you sleep and have daymares of the trolls who die makes you want to throw up.

  It makes you want to grab her and shake her and scream at her to get it together and fix herself and her mates and everything she can, so nothing goes wrong. You know that she’d probably never listen, and that just makes you even angrier.

  Why does she have to be so good at some things, and so _bad_ with people? Why does she have to mess up when she could be so, so much better? So much more?

 Sometimes you try to drink so that you can forget her, but it never ends up doing anything other than making you think about how much you sometimes wish you could kiss those blue lips.  It makes you want to throw up, thinking about kissing her, about having her for your pitch mate. Especially when you know that she’s with that brine breather, the one who’ll send an assassin after the Dolorosa.

…And then there’s what _she_ does to the Dolorosa. You don’t even let yourself think about that. She could be so great! But she isn’t. She won’t be. She’s messed up and she won’t let anyone help her, and that’s what makes you even madder.

  Your headache is bad tonight, so bad that it makes you want to throw up, she’s mad and she won’t stop killing them. Something about how that brine breather took something of hers, and how she’ll get him back for it someday. And oh, won’t she.

  You end up throwing up, and sobbing into the Dolorosa’s lap, wishing the aching, pulsing headache would just stop, and that she’d stop killing them.

  You hate her so much.


	3. Retry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave Strider and Rose Lalonde are leading an army. But how much do they really know about each other? Apparently not enough to not need to retry.

  Rose Lalonde hissed as she slammed her needles into the sword in front of her, and then twisted on her heel and darted in, meaning to slam her needles into his side. He side stepped and she would spilled to the ground if she hadn’t ducked into a roll. She came up, spun, and darted in again.

  No magic, and no flash stepping. Either of those things would mean instant death for the other, and no harm was meant. It was a dance, elaborate and beautiful.

  Tonight, they danced on a building top, and a city burned around them. They attacked and defended themselves, and for every hit they took, they gave one of their own. The dance would not end until both were satisfied in each other and themselves.

  Finally, Dave slipped his sword to his left and then jabbed it forward, only to have it close on something squishy and…red. Blood. There was a gasp, and he looked at her.

  Blood dripped out of Rose’s mouth. She stared at him for several moments, stunned. Then she laughed.

  “Guess I was a bit slow tonight, Strider.  Good, practice.” She wheezed out, blood dribbling down her chin, mixing with the blood on her torso, then dripping to the ground.

 Dave jerked out his sword and jammed it into the ceiling beneath him. He focused all his energy and power on one thing, that one moment, the had to change it, he had to-

  Rose Lalonde hissed as she slammed her needles into the sword in front of her, and then twisted on her heel and darted in, meaning to slam her needles into his side. He side stepped and she would spilled to the ground if she hadn’t ducked into a roll. She came up, spun, and darted in again.

  No magic, and no flash stepping. Either of those things would mean instant death for the other, and no harm was meant. It was a dance, elaborate and beautiful.

  Tonight, they danced on a building top, and a city burned around them. They attacked and defended themselves, and for every hit they took, they gave one of their own. The dance would not end until both were satisfied in each other and themselves.

  Finally, Dave slipped his sword to his left and then jabbed it forward, tilting it just to the right in that last moment, so it hit her needles. He grinned and swept it up, then slammed it down slapped the flat of his blade against the back of her hand.

  He laughed quietly as he watched the needles spin out of her hand and land on the ground, scattering.

  “I win, Lalonde.” But oh, clowns and witches, it had been close. He would have to be more careful. Even one slip up could mean the end of everything.

  Rose stared at him and smirked. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d been lucky to have avoided that sword. Too lucky. There was far more to this strider fellow then even she knew. She had to attempt to fix that. If she and Strider were humanities greatest hope, they could have no secrets. It wouldn’t be very fair to expect him to tell her all his secrets, and reveal none of her own, but she hardly cared at the moment.

  She picked up her needles, and held them in her left hand, offering her right to Dave. She was ambidextrous, but the sentiment was recognized.

  “Come, Strider.” She said. “The city is dying. We’ve evacuated it. We’ve fought. Let me buy you dinner. A drink. We can talk as friends, comrades.”

  “Whoa, I’m flattered, but I-”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Rose said, her tone drying. Strider stared at her for a few moments. At least, she suspected he was looking at her. It was hard to tell with those glasses.

  “No. You meant you wanted to learn about me.” He said slowly. Carefully. Far too carefully. Something clicked inside her. She could feel her eyes widen, and his jaw set.

  “Don’t. Whatever you’re about to do, do not do it.” She said. He grit his teeth.

  “How, could you, te-”

  “I think it’s time we talked, Strider.”

  “…Only if you do as well.” He said, voice almost shaking. It might have if he hadn’t perfected his mask. She considered for a few moments.

  “…All right. Come along, then.” She said. “Let’s talk.”


	4. of Redglare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Signless's death, the Neophyte's ensuing beliefs, and her eventual death. Disciple, Highblood, Dolorosa, Psiioniic, and Darkleer are all used/mentioned.

  Her name was Latula Pyrope, and her title was Redglare. _Neophyte_ Redglare, actually. Maybe she’d make it something better when she actually made a name for herself. She planned on making herself big. And with the Highblood himself watching her, she would either make it to a marvelous height, or she would hang herself with her own rope, so to speak. Which just meant that it would be her own fault if she failed.

  She was sitting in a group of people, listening to _Him_. He was a mutant blood preacher who spoke of things like equality and peace. Up until now, she’d only heard rumors of him and his blood color. They said his luses was a jade blood, and he had an ex-helm as a friend, and a girl in all his quads.

  She stared at his blood, dripping from one of the arrows sticking out of his body. They’d ripped off his cloak and cast dice to see who got it. It had ended up with a smirking violet blood, who held it in one hand as he watched the proceedings. She watched as they ripped his pants off next. This piece went to a blue blood, the one to shoot him.

  She watched as the Highblood grinned and snapped his fingers.  The snapping of one of the bones in his rib cage. She jumped, and the corners of her lips tugged down. He lifted his head and stared at her. She stiffened, and he mouthed something. _Hello, Latula. It’s good to see you again. Nice outfit. It’s just like-_ Another snap interrupted his careful, mouthing and he screamed.

  She continued to watch until one punctured his lung. She inhaled and then the Sufferer screamed. A horrible, angry sound, holding no pain, but of anger and grief, there was plenty. It died in a wheeze and he went limp.

  A shrill wail arose from the olive blood and the Highblood pointed at her. The Executioner turned and threw the pants he’d won at her. She grabbed them up, and clung to them. The Executioner lifted his bow and drew back the arrow. For a few moment, it seemed as if he’d carry through. Then he lowered his bow.

  The air went dead. Not a single mummer, no noise other than breathing, and the blood dripping from the Sufferer.  Then the Disciple jumped up and fled. It seemed the crowd had all followed Darkleer in taking pity on her, or maybe they feared his arrow would fall on them instead. They did not stop her.

  “Horuss.” Darkleer turned to face his Highblood, his face stretched in an unnatural grin. Redglare at seen it only a few times before, when he had some task he really did not want to do. She recalled the Highblood telling him to smile once, and threatening to cut open his face, during some fit. The Highblood had risen, and pointed. “Go.”

  The Executioner wasted no time in turning and walking. Redglare walked over and stared up at the cuffs on the Sufferer’s hands. Then she left.

  A few days later, she snuck out and took down the body. She wore a necklace now, under her shirt, of course. No need for everyone else to see her new found faith. The necklace looked like his cuffs. A six and a nine, perhaps, one circle touching the end of the next circle.  

  Latula was sure of only two things. She was going to live a glorious life, and die only when she was too old to fight off her enemies, and she would be devoted to this man, this troll, this _god_ , who had looked at her, and said her name, who had called _her_ to carry his name. She would teach all that he had and help to grow his small number of followers.

  When the Highblood pulled the Necklace off her cold corpse, he cursed his luck that the Sufferer had taken his two best, and he had taken the Orphaner. No doubt the empress would be furious, to say the least. At least furious enough to leave the new Orphaner unchosen for a time.

  The necklace was sent to Darkleer, as a little pick me up. The pick me up that would finally break him. That would finally tell him that his lord would never accept him back.

  Perhaps, pondered the Highblood, he should’ve been more careful about his company. And accepting a teal blood so easily into his trust.


	5. Cough Phee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-scratch Dave Strider and Pre-scratch Karkat Vantas in the pale quadrant. Background Kanaya and Rose.

Karkat had lived his entire life in the caverns, with his beloved caretaker, Kanaya. But now, standing in front of a pair of humans, he was nearly ecstatic. No, forget the nearly. He _was_ ecstatic. Kanaya was already talking with the female, who appeared to be named Lalonde. She was tall, and beautiful, even lacking the horns and with the weird, purple eyes and lack of fins. She also had a different color skin then gray.

  Karkat rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting for Kanaya to finish up. Be the empress of beforus, Kanaya was talking about _knitting_! How boring. He turned and trotted off, hoping to find some sort of ice cream shop. His favorite flavor was either green apple, charry, or grape. He was sure he’d seen one on the way to meeting the humans.

  This earth memory sure was strange. Everything was weird and all the humans seemed to have different tones of skin. The ones with the same tones all looked the same, and no one had horns. They also seemed softer, like a squishy grub. He grumbled and cursed under his breath, hoping Kanaya wouldn’t somehow over hear. She hated it when he cussed.

  “Hey, kid.” Karkat jumped and turned. It was the other human. He had white hair, and cicle glasses. Did that mean his blood was white? Where would that even be on the hemospectrum. Karkat frowned a little. He was hardly one to talk about being on the hemospectrum, but at least he’d had the decency to dye his hair black when it started to go red. There hadn’t been a reason to let Kanaya be faced with that, night in and night out.

  The other human walked over and knelt next to Karkat. He gave the small troll a twitch of his lips, something that might have been a tiny smile if he’d gone any further.

  “Karkat, right? I’m Strider. You can call me Bro.  I’d say you met my sister, Lalonde, but she was talking it up with that other grey skinned humanoid like two rabbits trading garden carrot stealing tactics on a cold winter’s day.” The other human said. Karkat nodded a little uncertainly. He wasn’t sure he’d followed everything. The human had a very fast, rhythmic way of speaking. But he’d gotten the jist of it.

  “I’m Karkat. Karkat Vantas of Beforus, culled by Kanaya Maryam.”  Karkat recited, feeling irritation bubble up at the need to tell once more who he was. Not like it mattered now that they were all dead.  He squashed it down and inhaled through his nose, then exhaled though his mouth, like Kanaya had taught him. Her patience in helping overcome his anger issues had helped enormously.

  “Vantas. That’s a cool name. Is it German or something?” Strider asked. Karkat gave him a look that screamed ‘ _are you a raging idiot?_ ’ and Strider smirked. “It’s a joke. Why’d you wander off from your mom?”

  “What the ffffuuudge is a mom?”

  “Did you seriously just turn f**k into fudge? How old are you?”

  “I’m over fifteen solar sweeps, you putrid flesh pile of a being!” Karkat snapped, crossing his arms. One of Strider’s eyebrows went up behind his glasses and he held up his hands in a defensive manner.

  “Wow. Fifteen huh? Haha, wow.” Strider wasn’t even pretending not to smile. He even gave a little chuckle. Karkat grumbled, and swatted at him.

  “I’m nearly as tall as you.”

  “Dude, you come up to my shoulder.”

  “Shut up. I’m leaving.”

  “Not without some adult supervision you aren’t.”

  “I am an adult!”

  “You’re fifteen.”

  “That’s an adult!”

  “Eighteen is the required minimum to do adult stuff.”

  “You’re a liar, you sack of stinking, putrid-”

  “Karkat, language!” Kanaya said, walking over and settingher hand onto his shoulder. He was nearly as tall as she was, but she managed to to ruffle his hair next.  “I see you’re making friends with mister strider.”

  “I am n-”

  “Yeah, we’re besties now. We’re going to make friendship bracelets.” Strider hooked an arm around Karkat’s shoulders, pulling him away. “We’re going to go get some coffee, all right?”

  “All right. Be good, Karkat.”

  “I-”

  “He will, don’t worry.” Strider said, already turning himself and his ‘friend’ away. He ducked into the nearest Starbucks, and got in line. The moment they stopped moving, Karkat, jerked away and gave Strider a scathing look.

  “We are _not_ making friendship braclets.” Karkat snapped. Strider shrugged.

  “Suit yourself. You ever had coffee?”

  “Cough-phee?”

  “I’ll take that as a no. Yeah, hey, two extra hot pumpkin spice lattes. Sure, that’s great, thanks.” Strider said, directing his later part of his speech to the woman at the counter. He turned and walked down to the next part, paying, then to the place to get the lattes, and waited for Karkat to catch up. “So, you’re from Beforus, which is like where the sea witch came from, but nice?”

  “The _sea witch_? Are you six? Empress Peixes isn’t a witch, fu-”

  “Wait, I thought her name was Condesce.”

  “What?” Karkat followed Strider as he got the lattes, then sat at a table.

  Nevermind. Here, taste this.” Strider set the cup in front of Karkat, and Karkat gave it a small taste. He gasped sharply, and if his eyes hadn’t been blank, his pupils probably would’ve doubled in size. “Wow, like it, huh?”

  Karkat answered by gulping down his latte in moments. His warmer body temperature helped his tongue from getting burned. Strider put his arm on the back of his own seat and sipped his latte much slower, watching Karkat.

  When Karkat was done, he was breathing quickly. Strider calmly stood up and started out. Karkat almost ran into him on their way out. The moment they were out, Karkat started almost jumping in space, and was babbling about something.

 Strider didn’t know a lot about trolls. Mostly just how to kill them. But, he did remember reading about how to calm them, as well, in one of the many reports that Lalonde had written up for him. He shifted his coffee to his other hand, and reached over to stroke Karkat’s cheek.

  Karkat closed his mouth with a snap and nuzzled into his hand, chirring. Strider led him to an outside table and continued to gently stroke his cheek. After a few moments, he hazarded a small ‘shhh.’

  Karkat calmed down quite a bit while Strider papped him. By the time Kanaya came back, Karkat had come down and crashed, snoring with his cheek on Strider’s shoulder. Strider was messing around on his phone. Kanaya decided she had a bit more time to spend with the other human. Karkat was in good hands.


End file.
